Monday, May 31, 2010

Carriages curl, laugh, you air!The ink of the sermon rams the anthemsAnd dresses them in hats and classUntil they disappear beneath the wavesWe make out their faces from our high placeThey make their careers on their chins.And the sound of nothingIs the sound of somethingUntil you put your want aside and findYourself step step stepping into a voidCigarette in your lips and your moustache on fireYou check the crossAnd split the skyAnd you laugh and in laughingCome crashingInto this sweet heaven.